Page 43 of Downfall

I’m not sure if I’m more angry or relieved to find Skylar’s ring in my pocket. I didn’t put it on her finger last night. I left it on her nightstand as a peace offering before I passed out on her floor.

A sardonic laugh starts to bubble out of me because how could I be so ignorant? There is no peace when it comes to me and Skylar. Not until we figure out if there’s anything left of us from the past.

18

SKYLAR

Allie clearly did not take into account my less-than-beginner cooking ability when she gave me this easy recipe. First, I cut my finger grating an orange—why is that even a thing? Who the hell wants to eat tiny bits of an orange peel? The juice is the good part. Then, I accidentally switched the baking powder and baking soda measurements, which I didn’t think was a big deal, but I texted Allie and she proceeded to send me several messages in all caps that got progressively more aggressive. So I had to start all over again. I’m tired, hungry, and I’m pretty sure I have pieces of eggshell in my hair, but I’m going to keep going because this is supposed to help my stress.

I’m mixing the eggs, sugar, milk, and honey in a bowl when I hear the front door slam, startling me to the point that I whip around and my sleeve catches on the container of olive oil, causing it to come crashing to the ground. The viscous substance glugs out of the bottle into a giant puddle on Declan’s pristine kitchen floor.

“Fuck.”

I’m contemplating cleaning it up versus putting a towel over it and hoping he doesn’t notice when I hear my name.

“Skylar.”

Declan’s voice echoes throughout the house. He sounds pissed, but I ignore it because the last thing I need is to face him after what we did last night. Plus, I have bigger problems right now.

“Skylar, where are you?”

I don’t say anything. Instead, I place my phone on the counter and grab a dish towel from the drawer underneath the sink. I’m about to sop up the oil when Declan appears at the entrance to the kitchen. His chest heaves, his lips swollen and dotted with blood. A purple bruise blooms under his left eye, and his dark blonde hair is a mess of waves, the edges slick with sweat and matted to his forehead.

Did he get into a fight?

Before I can speak, he lifts his hand and the metal ring he’s holding catches the overhead lighting, making the bent edges shine.

I guess he found it. I wasn’t planning on doing anything with it since he didn’t put it back on my finger, but I couldn’t help myself. Before I got in the shower this morning, I slipped it into his jacket pocket while he was sleeping.

“What do I have to do, Skylar? Super glue this to your fucking finger?”

I arch an eyebrow, pursing my lips. “You could.” I take a slow step toward him. “But I’d rather soak my hand in rubbing alcohol than wear that ring.”

Declan takes a step, matching my forward movement before his darkened eyes meet mine. He smells like whiskey and the kind of grassy rain that only comes down in the summertime.

“Do you know what that’s called?” I gesture to the ring in his hand, and his brows knit. “The wire around a champagne bottle? I didn’t know, either, so I looked it up. It’s called a cage, Declan.”

He freezes, shoving the ring into the pocket of his jeans before rubbing his hands over his face. When I see his eyes again, they’re filled with pain.

“Stop putting it on my finger. Stop asking me to wear. Just—stop.”

My words seem to stir something. His expression changes, and he starts to advance toward me again, but his eyes are set so fiercely on mine that he’s not looking down. He doesn’t notice.

“Declan, no, don’t⁠—”

I put my hand out in a “stop” motion as if that’s going to help the situation, but it doesn’t. He goes down in one fluid motion, his legs kicking out in front of him as his ass hits the ground. He brings his hand, shiny with oil, up to his face, turning it both ways as if to examine it.

He looks up at me. I look down at him. And then the dam bursts. I can’t help it. The laugh starts slow, bubbling up and out of me until I’m wheezing.

“You think this is funny?” Declan growls, but it’s more playful than anything else. I nod, and he makes a half-hearted attempt to stand up before sliding back down. He crooks his finger. “Come here.”

I shake my head, tossing him the dishtowel instead.

“Skylar.”

“Fine.”

I know what he’s doing. I see it in his eyes the moment I move toward him, but I do it anyway. I take his outstretched hand, and he pulls me down, making sure I land on top of him, as olive oil splashes up the side of my shirt.